Fall From Grace
by LauraRaptor
Summary: Loki has finally crossed the line and is banished. Not just from Asgard, but from all the Nine Realms. He's found himself in a dimension without magic, without superheroes, and where what people know of him, Asgard, and The Avengers is what they read in comic books and see in movies. Totally lost and furiously angry, one woman might be enough to make him whole again.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading my first Loki fic! I hope to make this a pretty big ongoing series with lots of appearances from other Marvel characters. At its heart, Fall from Grace is meant to be a romance story, but with a lot of fun, adventure, drama, and even tears along the way._

 _I'm not quite sure how adult this fic will get, so for right now, it's rated T. Judging how tense things get in chapter 5, that will probably change sooner than later._

My hands are shackled in familiar chains. The guard over my mouth hides the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. Two guards, in their gold plated armour, walk in step with me while I approach the throne where my father sits.

Odin's disapproving glare only makes my smile grow wider. While my latest plot was foiled once again, the chaos it brought to Asgard makes it all worth it. That, and how royally furious my not-so-proud papa looks as he glares down at me.

The arrival of my adoptive brother is the only thing that makes my grin slip. Tormenting him can be a delight, but there is no annoyance or anger on his face. No, the only thing on Thor's chiseled face is resigned disappointment. It is the same expression my mother used to give me after I upset her, and to see it on his face nearly shatters me.

Not that I'd ever let him see that.

Odin's voice booms through the room. Beyond the guards that shadow me, my brother, and Odin himself, the room is empty. His heavy, thunderous voice bounces off the walls and reverberates through my body.

"Loki," he growls at me, and my amusement picks up again. "How many times do you think we will put up with your scheming?"

I almost laugh at his question, as it's so obvious he wanted me to answer. The guard over my mouth makes that impossible, so I do what I can by mocking him with my bright green eyes.

"Mock all you want," he snarls back at me. "But this is the end of your plots, your destruction, and your madness."

How many times have I heard that before? I try to take over Earth, and get myself locked up in a cell until I get myself out. I blow up part of Asgard and find myself right back in that same cell. This time will be the exact same. I'll get out again and perhaps this time I'll take another crack at earth. Let Thor and Odin have this realm, and I'll have my own to play with.

"I know your tricks," Odin says, but his voice is no longer a snarl. It's faded into a long, tired sigh. "We simply cannot risk another escape."

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I worry. Father angry is amusing. But tired like this? It's not something I'm used to.

"Father?" Thor asks. His concern mirrors my own, which only worries me more.

"My original sentence was death," Odin says, his normally booming voice is hollow and full of shame. My heart clenches in my chest at his words. I can get out of it, I'm sure, but it's still worrying.

"No, it's too harsh!" Thor steps in. Despite our differences, my brother, my foolishly loyal brother, is my one defender.

"It is not!" Odin snaps back at him. "We give and we give to you, Loki Laufeyson." He uses the name of my father, my true father, just to make the sting run deeper. "It is no matter to you. You want more. It's never enough. You won't stop until you've snuffed out every life that stands in your way."

"Father, Loki will do his time, with our guards -" Thor protests, but Father will have none of it.

"With our guards, he will escape again," Odin tells him.

He is not wrong.

"No, I will not remove your head from your shoulders," Odin relents. "Your mother, may she ride valiantly in Valhalla, would never forgive that. No, the only acceptable means of keeping you far from the people you would otherwise hurt is banishment."

"Father!" Thor protests again, but I only smile to myself. Banishment is nothing. There is nowhere in all the realms where I can't make my mark and cause a little chaos. Wherever I go, I will find my way to rule.

But Odin doesn't listen and I hide the amusement in my eyes while I'm led to the Bifröst. Heimdall waits to open the bridge while I salivate at the idea of the realm that I will soon get to conquer as my own.

"Loki Laufeyson," Father booms as Heimdall opens the gates. "For your grievous crimes in this realm and in others, you are hereby banished from this realm and all the nine realms."

Wait, all the nine realms?

"Take your quarrelsome, power hungry ways from our world," Father continues, a touch of sadness echoing in his booming voice as he speaks. "Perhaps in a dimension without magic and Asgard, you will find some humility."

'Without magic?' I want to ask, but the guard over my mouth prevents it. I search the large, cavernous dome from my brother, but he is nowhere to be found. It is just Odin, Heimdall, and myself.

Trembling claws of dread begin to slither up my arms, my legs, and across my spine. This is no ordinary punishment, and the forlorn look in Heimdall's glimmering eyes as he plunges his golden sword into the gates is enough to confirm it for me.

The rainbow bridge erupts from the gates. My father's hands, still strong as stone despite all his years, clamp down on my shoulders. With the magical cuffs that bind me, I am powerless to resist him as he pushes me toward the bridge.

My feet move forward against my wishes. The tips of my boots slide onto the crystallized rainbow of the Bifröst. My mind races as I step forward, but all my thoughts freeze in my mind as lightning crackles up from the bridge. Thunder roars around me as static dances over my skin. This is not normal, this is not the Bifröst I've travelled so many times before.

Something is truly wrong.

"Loki Laufeyson!" Odin's voice rolls on the cracks of thunder. "You are hereby banished!"

With a mighty strike of electric energy, fire spreads through my veins. My black hair stands on end and pain envelopes me as my body is ripped apart from the force of it all.

And then everything goes black...

Total silence surrounds me...

Horrible silence...

...

Blinding red light burns my eyes. Clattering crashes fill my ears with sound. My pants are... My pants are wet?

Blinking my eyes open, I gaze up at a harsh, hot sun beaming down on my face. Admittedly, I'm relieved to find I am not dead.

As my eyes adjust to the light, I force myself up on my hands. Sinking into the earth, I quickly realize that it's not just ground I'm on, but sand. Fine, glittering sand that runs through my fingers.

The cuffs.

It's that moment that I realize they are gone. Discarded and being lapped at by the incoming tide of the sea or ocean that is making its way up the shoreline.

They aren't the only thing that's missing. The heavy guard that had been pressed so hard against my lips is nowhere to be found.

It makes perfect sense, of course. My bonds were held together by Asgardian magic. If this truly is a realm without magic like Father promised, then they would have no power here.

Then I would have no power here.

Picking myself up, I dust the sand from my clothes. The leathers I'm used to wearing are gone, replaced in the rough spun gaol clothes I've grown all too accustomed to during my periods of incarceration.

Out of instinct, I will something a little more appropriate to cover them, but nothing comes. I try again, but there is nothing. The glimmer that feathers its way through my veins that I'm so used to is mysteriously gone. Without it, I feel... I feel...

Empty.

"No," I growl. "No!"

Odin hadn't lied. My magic, the magic my mother taught me, the last piece of her that I had left, is gone. I try to summon an illusion, a ball of light, a damn whisper of wind, and nothing comes to me.

It's gone.

Rage overcomes me. The void sunken in my chest is filled with the white hot fire of my anger. In my rage, my fingers find a tangle of driftwood that has washed ashore near me. Without thinking I tear into it, leaving nothing but splinters in its wake.

At least my strength has not disappeared.

But strength has never been my weapon. My magic is my strength, and my wits.

In that moment, I remember I am not lost. My wits are my true strength. They will get me home, and they will free me from this horrible, magicless place.

The sand falls off of my clothes as I march off the empty beach. A new determination seethes through me as I storm my way toward the buildings that edge the beach where I woke. I will find my way back to Asgard, and I will prove to Odin that no trap, no prison, and no dimension can hold me.

Insignificant humans stare at me as I march down the side of their paved street. Their gazes mean nothing to me as I move forward without looking back. I will get my revenge on Odin, and then if I feel like it, I will take over their pitiful world. Perhaps make it a refuge when the stress of ruling Asgard begins to get on my nerves.

My focus is straight ahead with pure determination. A magicless world is one thing, but if there was a portal that could bring me here, there is one through which I can leave. Through my studies, I know the earth's weaker points for travel. I will find a way to bend the portals and make my way home.

I am so focused that I nearly miss the sign on my way past the row of buildings. Brightly coloured pictures line the glass windows and my eye catches on a picture that is oddly familiar.

"It is impossible," I whisper to myself as I gaze at the image.

My visage, drawn with a crude hand at best, stares back at me from Odin's throne. Thor's name is scrawled in some amateurish imitation of Asgardian lettering across the picture, but it is crossed out with red ink resembling blood. The number one is painted beside my brother's name.

"What in the nine realms is this?" I hiss at the image.

My focus shifts and I need answers. I storm into the building that houses the image and find a startled, chubby man behind a counter covered in the images of my greatest foes. Captain America, Hawkeye, and that infernal green ape glare back at me from flimsy, glossy parchment.

"What are the meaning of these?" I demand as I examine the pages.

"Dude, comics?" he answers in a dimwitted amusement that matches his gaping, open mouthed expression.

"Comics?" I press him. In a world without magic, how can they know me? How can they know my brother?

"Comic books?" he chides and I desire to strike him down, but the pained memory of my missing magic haunts me. "You know, funny books with superheroes? Fiction, dude."

It is worse than I could have imagined. In this world, I am not only without my sorcery, but I am...

...Fiction.

***original image for cover from - ***original image for cover from - ancidrainbow1 on tumblr*** ***


	2. Chapter 2

I've got a thousand and one things on my plate and dealing with some guy yelling at one of my coworkers is not one of them.

Despite being a Tuesday - the slowest day of the week for customers in the comic world - there is simply too much to get done in preparation for new comic Wednesday. Throbbing behind my right temple is the start of a nasty headache and I'm in no mood to have to calm down some guy who is pissed that we're sold out of Archie or something.

Approaching the counter, I realize the situation is worse than I imagined. Our disgruntled customer's hair is black and wild, while his clothes are dirty and don't even appear to be from this century. He's covered in sand and grit from the beach, which is probably where he woke up after a bender or something. And his shoes? Well, he's lost them somewhere along the way.

"Sir," I cut in as I approach. The disheveled man leans up from the counter and it's only then that I realize just how tall he is. I'm not sure whether to be intrigued or afraid.

"I don't need more prattling from witless fools!" the man snarls as he turns.

That's generally about the time I'd lose it on a customer and tell them to get out of my store. Pull the 'I am the manager!' line on them and kick them right out, but when he turns. Oh man, when he turns.

It's his eyes I notice first. Piercing green and so deep that I'm literally stunned for at least a few seconds. Against his black hair and pale skin, they are like gleaming emeralds in the sunlight coming through the windows.

It doesn't hurt that he is darkly, mysteriously handsome, even being as disheveled as he appears.

Flustered, I fumble over my words while trying to ask what the guy, handsome as he is, what his problem is. "Sir," I manage to get out. "I need to you settle down."

"I do not take orders from some lowly cur," the man spits back at me.

Okay, that's enough of that.

"Look, buddy," I spit right back at him. "You can either calm down, or you can get out. Which will it be?"

He might dwarf me by almost a foot and through the thin, rough shirt he's wearing I can see his lean muscles tense, but I refuse to back down. The worst thing he can do is take a swing at me, but I'm hoping it won't come to that.

The stranger's eyes dance back and forth as he contemplates his choices. For a moment, I truly worry he will take that swing at me, but thankfully his tense muscles relax. The fire in his green eyes remains all the same.

"I need to know the meaning of that," he tells me as he points to the posters in the window.

Admittedly, it's been a few months since I've changed them and they are a bit out of date, but no one has gotten mad about it before. They've chuckled about it, but there's never been anger.

"Explain the meaning of the image," he says, and frustration echoes through his voice.

"It's a poster for a comic book," I explain. Suddenly I realize that he might not be entirely screwing with me. From the look of him, he may actually need help.

With a sigh, I continue. "It's a book about Norse Gods. You know, Thor, Loki, those guys?"

"I'm well acquainted with them," he mocks. "I want to know why you have this crudely, childish drawing of m - Loki in your shop front."

"It's the cover of a comic," I try to explain as my own frustration bubbles up again. "They're just stories. I have some giveaways you can have if you want to check them out. Have you... have you ever read a comic book before?"

"I assure you, I have not," the man scoffs.

The longer I look at him, the longer there is a part of me that recognizes him from somewhere. A feeling like deja vu tugs at the back of my mind as I try to figure out where I know him from, but I can't put my finger on it.

But it keeps me from dismissing him completely.

It also gives me a stupid, entirely ridiculously foolish idea. The guy is obviously confused, but he doesn't seem crazy. Angry, yes, but if he was going to hurt me, he would have done it already. He just seemed frustrated and maybe he actually just needed someone to talk to.

"I can explain everything," I told him, switching from my manager voice to my soothing, customer service voice. "How about you come with me?"

Maybe it was the change in my tone, or just my willingness to help, but the strange, undeniably attractive man with the hauntingly bright green eyes relents and agrees. Where we were going, I'm not exactly sure, but having him ranting inside the shop was not going to encourage any customers to spend money.

"Matt, could you hold down the fort for me?" I ask my assistant manager. He gives me a look that tells me he thinks I've totally lost it, but I ignore it.

The overwhelming urge to loop my hand through the stranger's arm hits me as I lead him from the shop, but I force myself to keep from doing it. There's just something about him I'm so drawn to. Maybe it's his eyes, maybe it's the familiarity that I can't quite place, or maybe it's just because he's just so damn attractive, but I lead him out of the shop and into the sun.

"I think our first stop is to get you some shoes," I tell him as I start down the street, but he doesn't follow.

"You've offered me no explanations," he counters. "I will not leave this spot until you explain this gross forgery."

"I will, I will," I assure him. "But how about we get those shoes and then we can talk over coffee. I promise I'll explain everything."

Thankfully he agrees and follows me down the street. His long, graceful legs could easily outpace me, but he keeps pace with my speed. There are no words exchanged between us, but I can't help but smile as we walk together. Disheveled, frustrated, and a bit dirty as he is, I'm really starting to get the impression there is more to his story than just a drunken night and a hangover this morning.

"In here," I tell him as I open the door for Miller's Shoes. It's a block away from my comic shop and I know the owner well. I just hope that I won't catch any grief for the strange man I've brought into his shop.

"What size are your shoes?" I ask him as I look at what's available.

"Size?" he asks, bemused puzzlement splashed across his face. "They are the size that are cobbled for me."

"Uh huh..." I mumble. "Okay, let's try..." I take a look at his bare and very large feet before I continue. "Let's try the, oh damn, um, a twelve?"

We end up going with a fourteen and I hand over my credit card to Mr. Miller for a pair of fancy black leather shoes. They're way more expensive than I should be buying with my salary, but I can't help myself. I have a weird compulsion to help the guy and find myself staring as he leans down to slide the shoes onto his feet.

"Now coffee," I tell him as I force my ogling gaze away from him. The last thing I want is for him to catch me staring at him like some doe eyed tween. I'm just here to help him out.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Our little town is probably the only one without a Starbucks, but there is a nice cafe that I lead my new, well, I wouldn't call him a friend. Not yet. But I lead him there and order myself an iced coffee.

I'm about to order him the same when he cuts in and asks for a black coffee for himself. Strangely, I find myself relieved that he even knows what coffee is. Relieved and a bit surprised.

Once we're out on the patio, with the shade keeping the sun off us, I know I need to get down to business. It's time to put on my manager voice and find out what is really going on.

But one look at him and my authoritative voice slips away and abandons me. The frustrated and slightly confused grimace he has been carrying since we first met almost thirty minutes ago is gone. In its place is a slight, almost hidden grin that is so charming I almost melt right in my chair.

"I want to thank you for your help today," the man I've barely just met says between sips of his coffee. His voice is a silky purr and his beautiful green eyes twinkle as they meet mine.

It's a switch that my brain isn't sure how to process. One minute he's fighting me like a cat in a bath, and the next he's suddenly my best friend. "Uh, no problem," I mumble as I reach for my drink. My fingers miss it just enough to knock it over, but the handsome stranger easily catches my drink before any more than than a few drops are spilled.

"I should introduce myself," he tells me as he takes my hand in his. His touch is refreshingly cool and I fight back the desire that grows within me. "My name is Loren, Loren Olsen. I do apologize for my behaviour in your shop. It was very unbecoming."

"It's okay," I tell him. I fight to keep my voice steady and professional. One kind word and a charming smile will not right the anger and yelling that he'd been spewing only a few minutes earlier.

Or so I tell myself.

"And might I ask the name of the woman who has been kind enough to not only buy me coffee, but my shoes as well?" he continues.

Oh yeah, that part.

"Grace," I tell him. "Sorry, Grace Thurman. The comic shop you were... misbehaving in, that's mine. Well, I run it, at least."

"I do like to misbehave," Loren tells me with sly charm dancing in his words. I try to place the name he's given me, as it sounds so familiar as well, but nothing comes to me. "Now, perhaps you can explain to me just what these comic books about Norse Gods are all about?"

"Sure," I tell him as I try to pick a place to begin. My first thought is to ask where the hell he's been living that he doesn't know about Marvel, The Avengers, and the multibillion dollar franchise the comics have built, but I don't let myself. He's finally being calm and not snapping oddly worded retorts at me. Better to just answer him and keep him calm. Hopefully there will be time to quiz him on himself later.

It takes a second for me to gather my thoughts. Not because I don't know the comic canon, but because it's hard to concentrate with Loren watching me. I have so many questions for him, and I just hope he'll give me a chance to ask them.

"Okay, so Thor first appeared in a comic called Journey Into Mystery," I explain.

From the perplexed expression on his face, I get the feeling it was good that I ordered a large iced coffee to get through my history lesson.

Though I don't think I'll mind talking to him very much at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The girl is foolish, naive even, as she dictates to me what I will be doing. Some mortal woman thinking she can tell me what I am to do? I have ruled Asgard, and yet she thinks she's in control. It's laughable, really.

But there's something about how she talks to me, when she uses a voice filled with authority and purpose, that ignites a curiosity in me. When she gives me orders, my first instinct is to show her just how foolish she is. The second is to take control of her, make her obey me and show her exactly who is the ruler here.

I won't though. As the black swill that this cafe calls coffee hits my lips, I realize that she is not the only one being foolish. This woman has not only purchased shoes for me, but is willing to help me, at least for now. I need to take what I can from her and learn as much of her dimension as I can. Having a willing encyclopedia on my side will be a lot easier than one who, well, who I've coerced by other means.

Covering my frustration is an easy enough switch for me. It's all an act, a game, but what kind of trickster god would I be if I couldn't do a little acting? With cool charm and a touch of her hand, it's enough to put her completely at ease with me.

Formally, I introduce myself to the young woman who has, admittedly, been very helpful. Of course, I won't give her my real name. She'd only laugh and be convinced I was truly insane, if she isn't already halfway convinced of that by my earlier behaviour. Instead, I give her an alias I've used before on my dimension's earth with little difficulty.

With our introductions complete, I know I have her in my claws. It was easy enough, and I knew it would be. Even in our short time of meeting, I've caught her looking at me with more than curiosity or interest. There is something in her eyes that intrigues me so. I've caught her watching me, but not in suspicion. It's something else, a something else I don't entirely dislike.

As she prattles on about the history of these so-called comic books, I catch her pausing and smiling whilst she looks at me between sips of whatever it is she is drinking. Yes, there is definitely more than just curiosity behind her soft, doe-like eyes while she watches me. And it's something I can use to my advantage.

So much of what she tells me of her comics, or floppies as she keeps mentioning, is strangely reflective of my own life. Some is total fantasy, yes, but others, others could have been plucked from my own memories. The battles of Jotunheim, my attempts at the conquest of earth, my frustrating attempts to take down the Avengers one by one. She knows it all, but to her, they are all made up stories. My life, to her, is entirely fictitious.

"And then there are the movies," she says with a soft laugh that flutters in my chest. The sensation catches me completely off guard and I nearly drop my charming act. Who is this mortal woman to affect me so? She hasn't the right.

"Are you okay?" she asks, noticing the shift in my mood once more.

"Yes, fine," I assure her with an easy smile. I let my fingers brush over the back of her hand. A flush of pink fills her cheeks and I expect myself to be bemused by my power over her, but that's not what creeps up within me. No, it's an entirely unwelcome feeling that I push back down. "Please, do continue. What are these movies?"

"Wow, really?" she asks with another laugh, but this one doesn't cause that same flutter. No, this one isn't charming or soft, but mocking in its tone.

Anger overcomes my cool facade and her laughter dies on her lips. Instantly, I realize I've made a mistake in letting my emotions control my expression and I fight to cool myself once more.

"Yes, really," I tell her, but anger touches my voice yet. There is something about having her laugh at me that affects me unlike any other has before. I try to convince myself it is because she is so far below me, but a voice in my ear let's me know that is not entirely correct. Not completely.

"Sorry," she says, and where I expect to find humility or shame, I find only sarcasm in her voice.

"Please," I press her. "I apologize. Continue."

It's not in me to apologize, but I know I will need her knowledge. Pushing her away now will put me right back where I started in this infernal, frustrating world of hers.

"No, I apologize," she relents. A playfulness touches her eyes that isn't lost on me. "I shouldn't have laughed. I've just never met anyone who doesn't know about the movies before. The comics, I'm used to explaining those to people. The movies though? Everyone knows the movies."

"I've been busy," I lie to her. Her eyes narrow as she watches me, but she doesn't question my reasoning.

"Okay, well, the movies," she tells me. "It started with Iron Man like, ten years ago. He had his own movie, and he's kind of the leader of the whole thing right now."

Iron Man? He is the one they put all their stock into? Foolish!

"A couple years later they did another Hulk movie, and then Iron Man got his second movie," she tells me. "After that, Thor came out and... Oh my god!"

A sudden look of recognition touches her face and I'm surprised to find myself startled by it. She studies me once more, but this time with a keen, almost furious curiosity. The urge to turn away from her hits me, but I can't keep my eyes off of her.

"Okay, no, what the hell?" she laughs. "This isn't some weird prank for like, MTV is it?"

"MTV?" I querry.

"Stop, you can't be serious," she laughs once more. "This is a joke, someone is putting me on now."

"I assure you, I am doing no such thing," I tell her. Exasperation touches me while she looks at me with those quizzical eyes of her that torment me so.

"But you look just like him!" she insists.

"Like whom?" I ask her. Who in her world could come even close to looking like a god?

"Really?" she asks as her laughter dies. "Give me a second."

She retrieves a device out of her bag, one like I've seen Thor's human paramore use before. With a few taps on the screen, she turns it to show me what the picture shows.

"You look just like him!" she says as I stare at the man on the screen. He's tall, that much is obvious, but his eyes are blue and his hair is a reddish-blond with delicate curls. Not unattractive, but I cannot claim to agree with her.

"I don't see the resemblance," I tell her. "Who is he?"

"Seriously?" she protests. "That's Tom Hiddleston! He plays Loki in the Thor movies."

"I don't see how," I snort. "He doesn't look anything like me."

"You haven't seen the movies," she protests. "With makeup and wigs and everything, he looks just like you." She pauses then, as some of the playfulness drains out of her face. "That's really weird," she mumbles, more to herself than to me.

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence," I assure her, though it's rather odd to me as well. While I have my own quarrels with the idea that some mortal can parade so easily as myself, I know I need to keep her from asking too many questions about it. If I scare her off, I'll need to find another willing pawn to feed me the information I require. I can't deny how lucky I was to stumble upon her so quickly after finding myself lost in this dimension.

"Yeah," she says, but there's apprehension in her voice. "Like I said, I can give you some of those comics back at the store. We've got some leftover giveaway copies and you're welcome to them."

Something is wrong. I've worried her, and I don't think a charming word or a gentle caress will fix it this time. Apprehension has gripped her and the more I press her, the further I'll push her away. I need her too much for that.

And there's something else. Something I won't admit.

It's enough that I almost don't notice the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to stand on end. Static fills the cool air and ripples through me.

Something is coming.

"Yes," I tell her. I make sure my voice is calm and steady, despite the urgency that now rushes through my veins. Time is of the essence, and we need to move. "Why don't we go get those now?"

"You can finish your coffee," she assures me, but I am long done with it. Compared to the fine coffees I've had in my realm, this is nothing but swamp water in a cup.

"It's gotten cold," I lie as I stand. Without thinking, I take her arm and pull her up. I need to leave, and I'm not leaving her behind.

Because you need her, I tell myself. I convince myself.

"Hey," she protests as I drag her away from the small, metal table where we were sitting only a moment earlier. She pulls against me, but I'm stronger than she'll ever have hopes of being.

I ignore her feeble words of protest as I lead her away from the table. We need to get somewhere hidden, and that means taking a different route than the one from which we'd come. The wide open street is asking for trouble.

Instead, I stick to the small alley that runs behind the building. Panic dances in my unwilling companion's eyes, but I don't have time to explain. She can think me a murderer or an assailant all she wants. I'm doing this to keep us both safe.

The alleyway is dark and I give myself a moment to hope that I've been paranoid or hasty in my snap judgement. It's a glimmer, but it dies quickly when I hear the voices.

Touched with the accent and dialect of Asgardian warriors, two voices carry in the wind. Heavy clanks of metal rocking against metal rhythmically march toward where we have taken refuge.

"We need to move," I hiss at my companion. She trembles against my clenched fingers, but I cannot release her.

"Let me go!" she insists, and I clamp my other hand over her lips before she gets another word out. With their well-trained ears, the soldiers will hear her if she utters another sound. I hold her tight to keep myself safe, and her as well.

But oh does she struggle against me. Her weak and powerless muscles tense and jerk against me, but I hold her easily. If not for the soldiers hunting me, I'm certain I would let myself smile. There is no time for that, though, and I drag her deeper into the shadows.

It is not enough, though. The clanging metal only grows nearer as we take refuge away from the sun's light. Without my magic and against two armored soldiers, I know we're in trouble. If I'm going to get out of this, I'll either need to escape, or set an ambush.

An ambush is very much more my style. Glancing around, I see the perfect place. A metal ladder hangs off the side of a building. In their Asgardian helms, the soldiers won't be able to see an attack from above. It may be just what I need to get the upper hand.

There's just the matter of Grace. Here eyes are a mix of delicious fury and exciting panic and I so wish to continue this as if it were a game, but there is no time. Her knowledge is too precious and I need to keep her out of harm.

Roughly, I push her behind a large metal container that smells of rotten food and old, musty clothing. "Stay there," I command her. I can only hope she is aware that it is in her best interest to obey me.

She stays put as I vault up and grab the lowest rung of the rusty ladder. With a quick climb, I wait in total silence from my perch as the hunters grow closer. Glancing back to Grace, I see she has yet to move, either. From the worry on her face, I'm certain that she can hear the same metallic clattering that alerted me to their presence as well. That alone should be enough to keep her still, yet I fight off the urge to worry about her safety.

Me? Caring about some mortal. The idea is ludicrous, but there is no time for it.

"Loki Laufeyson!" a voice booms and echoes down the alley. "For your crimes against Asgard, we are here for your head!"

Well, that confirms that, then.

"There is no point in hiding, trickster!" a second voice bellows. "We will find you and do what Odin was too much a coward to do!"

Ah, so Father didn't command this. Admittedly, that is somewhat a relief.

What isn't a relief is the two heavily armoured soldiers who enter the alleyway in search of me. I have to hedge my bets and hope the magic runes that protect the golden armour have lost their effect in this dimension, but one can never be too careful.

Biding my time, I wait until my adversaries are right below me before I strike. Their armour is heavy, and without the assistance of magic, will make them slow. Surprise, and stealth, are my allies in the fight. I'm unarmed, but I hope that will not be the case for long.

They move slowly, but I'm patient. One moment they are too far, and then, with a step, the first is in range.

I pounce. Like a coiled panther, I spring forward with my fists clenched together. Bringing my fists down hard as I land, my hands connect with the golden helmet of the closest soldier.

When enchanted by magic, my fists would have done no damage to the soldier, nor his armour. But without Asgardian runes and ancient magics, my first slam against the metal and pain rings up my arms.

But it's enough to knock my foe off balance. In the confusion, I reach for his sword as I rush my shoulder into his chest. Sprawled on the ground, stunned, and weaponless, I have the advantage over him.

Though there's still his compatriate I have to worry about.

The soft wind of a sword swinging toward me has me moving before I even see the attack. I raise my own weapon, a sword so much heavier without magic to lighten it, and parry the incoming attack. In the surprise of my attack, I was able to knock aside one, but not both of them, and it will only be so long before it's two against one again.

Asgardian soldiers are the most highly trained in all the nine realms, but they cannot compare to the training of an Asgardian prince. With every heavy swing of my attacker's sword, I parry and dodge, easily outstepping him at every turn. It's an easy dance and I laugh at the soldier whose swings grow wilder with every strike.

He's frustrated and growing tired. "Loki," he snarls at me like a maddened dog. "Stop this madness. Relent and I will make this quick."

"I could say the same to you," I mock him. "You are outmatched and outwitted. Your armour makes you slow without magic."

"Slow, but defended," he argues.

"And what would you do if I let you catch me?" I goad him. "Where would you go? There is no portal back to Asgard."

"It was a suicide mission," he grunts back at me. "Our lives are nothing in comparison to the millions we'd save by killing you."

"Then just try," I mock him. "You are outmatched."

"But you are outnumbered," he laughs back at me.

Turning quickly, I see the second man who's come to kill me is back on his feet. Stunned, but standing. He's without his sword, but not without deathly danger. One wrong move, and it will be the end, and I am alone.

But then I see her. The weak, powerless human. No one notices her but I, and then I see what's in her hand.

Curiously, the corner of my lip turns up in a sinister grin as she raises the brick above her head with both hands. I think she means to strike me, as if she could hurt me, but it is not me she is aiming for.

With a wild swing, she slams it against the helm of the already stunned soldier and he crumples to the ground. She can't have stunned him long, and I know I need to act. Lunging, I finish off my first attacker, and then turn to end the second.

My turn is a second too slow, and shock rushes into my cheeks as the hot sting of metal slices across my stomach. My skin is suddenly damp with warm, thick red water and both my attacker and I are startled by his lucky strike.

"Loki Laufeyson," the soldier grunts in his illusion of victor. "I sentence you to death."

"Not today," I hiss at him as he brings his sword down. My strike is faster and plunges deep into his chest. In an instant, our fight is over and I turn to ensure the young, human woman is safe. She's stunned, scared even, but alive.

Victory is mine and I go to wipe the blood from my shirt, but it's soaked with red. My long legs are suddenly so very weak and my knees buckle. The sword in my hand gives me balance, but only for a moment before I find myself tumbling to the ground.

As I fall, my vision begins to tunnel into inky blackness. The last thing I see before my sight leaves me, is the wide eyes of Grace, rushing toward me.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't know how I didn't see it earlier. I've watched The Avengers about fifteen times. I should have seen it, I should have known! My subconscious tried to make me see it, but I wouldn't listen.

Maybe it's the dishevelled hair, or the weird way we first met, but sitting with him and having coffee, it started to click in my head. He looks just like Loki from the movies. Not even just a little like him. No, he looks exactly like him, like he stepped off the screen and into my life.

Then there's the name he gives me! How did I not place it? Loren Olson? It's the same alias he's used before in the comics! Yet for all my comic book knowledge, I couldn't put the pieces together. Not at first.

I should have run when I got the first inkling that something was off. Hell, I should have just kicked him out of my shop in the first place. But I went with him, followed him, and let him drag me into some dark alley.

Okay, maybe I didn't 'let' him do that. I did struggle against him as a weird, impossible realization hit me. It couldn't be possible. He is a myth, a comic book character, and nothing more. I struggled harder as he clamped his cool hand over my mouth. But he's strong, too strong, and his grip on me is too tight to do anything but relent to him.

But he didn't kill me. He didn't even hurt me. He hid me. When the golden armoured soldiers came, he kept me safe and hidden. Watching him move, from his impossible leap up to the fire escape, to his fast, inhumanely quick reflexes, and his skill with the golden blade, it all paints a picture. I can't help but believe it's all true.

He's Loki. The Loki. The Loki from my favorite comics, my favorite movies, and from myths of old. Somehow, he's here and he's real and he's right in front of me.

And he's outnumbered.

He managed to even the playing field, but not for long. With the second man back on his feet, I knew he's in trouble. Panic gripped my heart as I watched, and then, without thinking, I did something really, really stupid.

I don't even know how I found the brick. It was just there in a pile of garbage. It's not heavy, but it's enough. It has to be. The strange man who introduced himself as Loren, and I'm certain now is Loki, watches with a bemused smile as I crack the brick against the back of the head of one of the soldiers.

It was enough to stun him, but it wasn't enough to keep Loki out of harm's way. Everything happened so fast. With only a couple turns, the two soldiers are... oh god, they're dead!

And Loki is hurt.

My mother always told me that I was going to get myself in trouble one day for being too friendly, and here I am. I don't even stop to consider the situation, not for long at least. As Loki kneels - no - collapses to his knees, I'm already rushing toward him.

"Oh crap, oh crap," I mutter as I skip over the splatters of blood on the cracked cement of the alleyway. He's only a few feet away, but it feels like miles as I try to reach him before he hits the ground.

My concern over the blood getting on my shoes vanishes as I wrap my arms around his muscular chest and try to pull him up. He's heavy, and heavier still because he's just about dead weight. If I'm going to move him, I'm going to need his help.

"Don't pass out," I implore him. "Please, just stay awake. I need you to help me if I'm going to get you out of here."

"Foolish wench," he mumbles as he pushes me away. His powerful strength is gone and I easily push back against him. "I am a god, I need no help from mortals."

"Yes, you do!" I insist. "And we need to leave."

Looking back at the two dead Asgardian soldiers, my mind is a mix of disbelief and panic. What is going to happen when those bodies are discovered is something I don't even want to consider right now.

Besides, we have a bigger issue on our hands.

He's hurt, and his formally dirty white shirt is now completely stained with the colour of rust. Worse, I know I can't take him to a hospital. What would they do? What would they say? 'Oh yes, this is Loki, God of Mischief and most likely a fictional character. We can stitch that right up!'

Being a god, I can only hope his ability to heal is a lot better than my own. If not, he's in serious, serious trouble. I don't even know if he'll be able to walk, but I know we can't stay here.

"Come on," I say aloud, more to myself than to him, as I place his lean, muscular arm over my shoulders. In the crook of his arm, I'm just barely able to get him to his feet.

Now I have to hope he'll stay conscious long enough to make the walk back to the only safe place I can think of.

My house.

Despite the dead weight on my shoulders, and the warm, wet blood staining my shirt, I manage to get him moving. He's barely holding onto consciousness, but he still manages to put one foot in front of the other as we shuffle slowly through the alley and toward the little apartment I call home.

There's no way we can take the normal streets. It's a small town and everyone who was out and about on such a nice, early fall day would take notice of the girl from the comic shop helping a very bloody and very wounded man down the street.

The walk is slow and Loki gets heavier every few minutes. His feet stumble and he mumbles over and over again that he is a god and I am a wench, a cur, a gobermouch - whatever that is. Yet I continue to help him and I'm not exactly sure why.

Finally, after what feels like hours of struggle, we get to the door that leads into my apartment. For the first time since I had to move my bed into the place, I'm really glad I live on the first floor. Getting him up a flight of stairs would probably have been completely impossible. Even getting him inside feels nearly impossible.

My apartment isn't big, just the first floor of an old victorian house. It looks like it would be fairly spacious, but it hasn't been updated in probably a hundred years and the rooms consist of a small kitchen, a tiny bedroom, a small bathroom, and a pretty good sized living room. It's that living room that I'm going to try to head us toward.

My first thought is my bed, but the blood makes me think differently. The couch is my alternative, mostly for the mess, and also because it's closer to the front door. That, and it's dark brown and hopefully any blood stains will stay hidden from view until I can get it professionally cleaned.

"Okay, this way," I grunt as I make the last few steps to the couch.

My goal is to get him sitting down and then manage to get a towel under him before he collapses, but of course I'm not that lucky. The moment I'm not there to hold him up, he flops over on the couch and passes out completely. If not for the shallow, rattling breaths wheezing through his lips, it would be all too easy to just assume he'd died right there in front of me.

My mind races on what I can do for him, all while the voice of reason in my head keeps telling me to call the cops. I can't honestly think this guy really is a god, can I? It doesn't make sense! But the soldiers, the golden armour, the swords! They even called him Loki! It has to be him...

... Doesn't it?

There's no time to wonder just how it's possible that there is a Norse God on my couch. He needs my help and I'm going to give it to him.

I race to the kitchen and grab the scissors out of the knife block and as many clean towels as I can find in one of the cupboards. I also fill a bowl with some hot water and try to make it back to the living room as quickly as possible without sloshing it everywhere, but without much success.

Loki doesn't move as I big to cut away the thin, rough fabric of the shirt he's wearing. His clothes are nothing like what I would expect a Norse God would wear, but this whole day has been nothing like I'd think any day in my life would be. I kind of just have to go with it and keep rolling with the punches.

With his shirt cut away, I start to wipe away the blood with a damp towel. He's still bleeding as I try to clean enough of the blood away to get a good look at the damage, but at least it looks like it's slowing down some. Despite the dire situation, I can't help but stare at his lean, tight muscles as I clean the blood away. Even in his weakened state, he's unlike any other man I've ever seen before, and looking at him sends a warm shiver up my spine.

"Now is not the time," I reprimand myself as I work. Enough of the blood is cleaned away that I can see the damage that has been done, and it's definitely not good. The cut goes deep between the muscles of his stomach and I wince in pain for him.

I'm no nurse, but I have an old first aid kid and do what I can to clean and sterilize his wound. He jerks against me as the bactine touches his flesh and I worry he'll wake up and freak out, but he quickly stills again. A lot of gauze and some tape later, he's as patched up and he's going to get and I can do little else but keep an eye on him. That, and hope I haven't just made things worse.

Of course, sitting still doing nothing is not my style. Stupidly, I check my phone and see about a dozen texts from Matt at the comic store, each one growing in panic that I have yet to return to the shop and how much he needs be back there as soon as possible.

"Family emergency," I text him back. "Call in anyone who is available."

After a second, I send a second text. "I won't be in tomorrow."

There is no way I can go into work tomorrow. Not after a day like this. A thousand thoughts race through my mind and I'm tempted to start biting my nails again, but I kicked the habit years ago and it's not time to start again.

Though if any time was a time to start, this probably would be it.

Instead, I focus on my phone. I Google everything I can about Loki, and put a big emphasis on his healing factor. Let's just hope the comics didn't get their facts wrong.

Thankfully, the first hit reveals the following:

"Like all Asgardians, Loki is still capable of being injured though, also like all Asgardians, his metabolism enables him to rapidly regenerate damaged tissue much faster and more extensively than a human being."

Okay, so hopefully he'll be okay. Hopefully.

But then what? If this is all real, and not the result of me having some kind of massive brain injury and imagining the whole thing, I've got to deal with the fact that a god is unconcious on my couch. Not just a god. Loki is a supervillain and I've let him into my house.

God, I'm an idiot.

Looking at him on my couch, though, I can't imagine him being a villain. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was sleeping peacefully. And he'd kept me safe when he could have let me get hurt by those soldiers. Or ignored me completely when we first met.

Besides, in the canon, Loki is mostly just misunderstood, right? If this really is him, and this is really happening, maybe he isn't evil at all. Maybe he's just a little chaotic, and maybe a little devious, but not exactly evil. Just something else for me to hope for.

For hours, I sit and watch him while he sleeps. Every move he makes on the couch, ever turn or cough in his sleep has me panicking that his wounds have overcome him and he's dying, but after every jerk or breath, he settles back down into a deep, hopefully healing, sleep. His eyes stay closed through every cough or movement, and I hope he's just asleep, not unconscious from the pain.

Somewhere in the afternoon, I find myself drifting off to sleep as well. Keeping my eyes open becomes a struggle I don't know if I can fight off any more. With the adrenaline crash, my energy drains out of me. I need to keep an eye on him, I need to make sure I'm there for him if he needs me, but my body is begging for sleep and I can only fight it for so long. Sometime in the early evening, I drift off to sleep.

When I wake, I'm sure it's all a dream. I'm certain that I've just fallen asleep in my arm chair, probably while reading comics, just like I've done a hundred times before. Everything that's happened is just a strange, lucid dream that will fade in time. Loki, the soldiers, the fight, and the injured god on my couch are all just a weird dream caused by reading too many graphic novels.

In the moonlight coming in from the window, the strained and bloody towels on the floor tell a different story. Strips of fabric litter the couch, but there is no Loki, and no sign of where he's gone.

My first thought is that he's fled in the night, and the reasonable part of me thinks that's for the best and I should be thankful for it. I can't have some supervillain judge sleeping on my couch!

Most of me is just disappointed. If it's real, and it has to be, then he's gone. I can't deny that I wanted to actually be able to talk Loki. To get to know him. To...

No, no, I can't even think about that. It'll only lead to me going from disappointed to worse.

Slowly, I pull myself up from my chair. My legs are stiff from being curled under me for so long, and I check my phone to see just what time it is.

"Midnight, damn," I groan as I stretch my arms over my head. I've been out for hours. If I remember correctly, it was almost three when we got back to the apartment in the first place.

With one more stretch, I get moving. I should clean up the mess before I try to sleep in my bed, though I doubt I'll be falling asleep again any time soon. Not with my impromptu nap and everything else that has happened.

I pick up the first towel when the sound of footsteps stops me in my tracks. Being in a first floor apartment, I'm used to footsteps over my head, but these aren't above me. They're coming from the kitchen.

I'm barely able to turn in time to see him emerge from my kitchen. Shirtless, with slightly bloodied gauze still taped over the wound I'd bandaged earlier, but otherwise unscathed, Loki struts back into the living room.

"Oh, you're awake," he says. His voice is no longer mumbled or weak, but clear, with the softest hint of a purr as he looks at me. "I had meant to let you sleep."

"I, uh, I woke up," I stutter. "You didn't wake me."

"Good," he says, and a playful smile touches his lips. If not for the gauze, I would have never guessed him injured at all. He no longer looks ghastly or in pain, but lithe, energized, and dare I say...

Sexy.

"Are you okay?" I ask him. He looks okay, but I'd like to hear him confirm it.

"I've been better," he teases me. His green eyes stay locked on mine and I'm hypnotized in his gaze. Just watching him sends excited chills up and down my spine. "But I wish to thank you for helping me. By morning, I should be healed completely."

"You're him, aren't you?" I spit out before I even think about what I'm saying. "You really are Loki."

"Of course I am," he says without a hint of denial or modesty.

"Why didn't you just tell me that?" I ask him and accusation rings through my voice. I have to stay strong and take charge. I can't let myself be charmed by him. I can't!

But my tone doesn't phase him. If anything, he enjoys it. With a slight upturn of one of his eyebrows, he asks, "Would you have believed me?"

"No," I admit with a sigh.

"That's why," he informs me as he takes a step closer to me.

Shirtless, with wild black hair and green eyes that sparkle in the pale light of the moon, he has me frozen in place. Devious delight dances in his gaze, but there's something else in them as well and my heart thumps hard in my chest as I try to stand my ground against him.

"Now," he says as a devilish grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I should introduce myself properly. My name is Loki, and I do believe I am going to need your assistance."

My heart skips in my chest and my breath catches in my throat. This is real. He is real. Loki is real.

And he wants my help.

 ** _Author's Note:_ ** Another chapter, and so soon! What can I say, all those new pictures from Australia have inspired me so. Hope you enjoy, and as always, leave me your feedback! Thanks for reading! 3


	5. Chapter 5

_**Quick author's note -**_ _Yeah, this chapter definitely reaches the top edge of Teen in the tension! I have a feeling I may need to change the rating in a few chapters. Also, this chapter sees the appearance of that ever so delicious black suit!_

Shadows have draped themselves over me whilst I slept, rested, and healed. My memories of what happened after the ambush attack are foggy at best, and I try to put together the pieces of what has transpired in the last few hours.

It is not like me to not be completely aware of every situation, of every opportunity, of every threat, but this is not my world. That is so abundantly clear as I sit up on the uncomfortable bed on which I lay.

No, it's not a bed. It's a couch, and a grubby one at that. Scattered around me are strips of dirty cloth and stains of blood.

And where in seven hells is my shirt?

My hands move to the muscles of my stomach, but it is not flesh they find. Adhered to me with flimsy bits of tape is soft, feathery gauze.

In the soft moonlight coming through the window, I peel back a corner of the clumsily applied bandaging. Beneath it, covered in thin, dried, and cracking blood is a deep wound that is slowly stitching itself back together.

If I had my magic, I would be able to heal the wound in minutes, maybe even seconds. Of course, if I had my magic, those two soldiers would never have even come close to a glancing blow against me.

Though even without my magic, they shouldn't have come close at all. With a sword, I am a better soldier than any in the Asgardian army could hope to be. But still, one of them had obviously dealt me a serious blow. And why? Because I was distracted.

By her.

My eyes fall on the young, all too human woman. She's curled up and asleep in a large armchair by the window. It hits me all at once that I must be in her home, her meager, cramped little home.

How is it that Thor would be happy to toss all the riches and grandeur of Asgard away from a home like this?

My first instinct is to wake her, to tell her I am in need of a meal. But watching her, her soft, feminine breaths, the rise and swell of her chest, and the soft flush of pink in her cheeks, I resist. Watching her in the moonlight, so still and so... so... fragile, I'm struck by the need to to protect her. To keep her safe. To...

No. I'm being foolish. It's the trip through time and space that has messed with my keen mind. The loss of blood can't help my mental state either.

But I can't deny the desire that builds in me as I watch her rest. Of all the people to stumble across in this realm, my luck has certainly runneth over when it comes to stumbling across this human. From her knowledge, to her willingness to help me, it's only reasonable that a part of me would grow attached to her in some way.

Instead of waking her, I venture into the small room attached to the one in which I've woken. With my sharp eyes, the light of the moon is more than enough to see well enough in her small kitchen.

I'm about to start searching for a meal when a soft shuffling sound touches my ears. Her soft, melodic voice whispers, "Midnight, damn," and a smile touches my lips. She speaks as if she thinks she's alone, and I'm curious to see what she'll say when I emerge and reveal myself.

Timing my move by the sound of her footsteps as they grow closer, I leave her kitchen and relish in her reaction. Her soft, sleep filled eyes go wide as she sees me. I expect her reaction is out of shock, but watching her, I realize it's something different. Her eyes don't meet mine, but linger on my bare chest as she stutters something about her waking up.

Her lip trembles ever so slightly as she watches me and the flush in her cheeks thrills me so. Toying with her is the sweetest pleasure, and I only make it worse by letting my lips turn up in a devious, almost sensual smile.

She's practically a puddle on the floor when I formally introduce myself to her by my real name, and her breath hitches when I reveal to her that I am in need of her assistance. While that much is very true, watching her squirm gives me the kind of delight I haven't known in all too long.

There's something else to it that I enjoy, but I won't let myself admit it. The excitement I feel, I attribute it to teasing her so, but part of me knows that's not all of it.

"What, uh, what can I help with?" she asks as her gaze finally meets mine.

"First, a meal," I tell her. "And then something to clean myself. And I suppose new clothing would be appropriate."

"Probably," she bluntly agrees, and I let myself laugh. Sarcastic, yes. I like that.

"You can use my shower," she tells me. Her flustered excitement has waned some, and I'm sad to see it go, but there is too much to do to keep teasing her. At least for now.

"And as for clothes?" I ask, and the flush appears in her cheeks again, though it's fainter this time.

"I think I know someone I can ask to borrow some things," she tells me. "But it will have to wait until morning."

"Then until that time," I tell her as I run the back of my fingers down her arm. "I will take that shower."

Her whole body trembles under my touch, but the unexpected surprise is the pleasurable shiver that touching her gives me as well. Her skin is soft, supple, and I want to savour the feeling of it under my fingers.

Perhaps there will be time for that later.

Her shower is nothing like the baths of Asgardian palaces that I've grown up in, but I have little other choice in the matter. When she guides me to the little closet of a room, a part of me expects that she will stand there and watch as I clean myself of the dirt, dried blood, and sweat I've been carrying on my skin for much too long, but she only closes the door and leaves me in privacy. I'm nearly disappointed by her quick retreat.

The hot water on my skin is a welcome repose to the rest of what has been an entirely frustrating day. No, not entirely. My new human companion has proven herself to be rather useful. Yes, I do think she is the one saving grace of this whole worthless planet. Who knows, I may find even more use for her yet.

Such cold thoughts cause a twinge of regret in my mind, but I shake it free. She is a human and I a god. More than that, I do not plan on being in this realm for any longer than I have to be. There is no reason for me to find myself attached to some mortal.

Leaving her shower with one of her towels wrapped around my hips, I expect to find her excited gaze on my body once more. To my surprise, she is not watching me, but asleep on the couch where I had one laid while she had tended to my wound.

That wound, despite her rather disorganised attempts at patching it up, is healing nicely. While not perfect, it will be fine come morning. It does not even require the heavy bandaging she had applied earlier anymore. Leaving to the air will help it heal faster, anyway.

Sighing, I know she should not spend the night on that wretchedly ugly couch of hers. Humans are fragile and she will hurt herself staying like that all night. I'll need her rested and well if I am to have her help me.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

Despite the still healing wound, I slide my arms under her and easily lift her off the couch. She doesn't wake, but in her sleep she rests her cheek against my chest and her touch warms me in a way that I don't know if I quite like or not.

Eager to end the feelings of confusion rippling through my mind, I leave the girl in her bed and retreat back to her kitchen. To my surprise, a meal of grilled vegetables on bread is waiting for me on her table and I sit down to eat it. I just wish I had more than just her towel to wear, but my clothes are dirty and stained and no use to me any longer.

It's a long wait until morning when she stirs at the sound of music coming from the speakers by her bed. Anticipation rises in my belly at the thought of seeing her reaction when she notices me sitting in her chair, reading one of the strange and comical books she's left in a pile on the floor. It's not about myself or Thor, but about a some red headed kid with freckles who somehow has attracted not one, but two beautiful young ladies that fight over him constantly.

Humans truly are ridiculous.

"Oh my god," the young woman nearly shrieks when she sees me, and my smile is obvious. Her reaction is exactly what I wanted.

"Did I startle you?" I toy with her as I put down the book.

"No!" she insists. "I mean, yes, but, why are you in a towel?"

"What else did I have to dress in?" I question her, and her blush returns in furious force. Oh yes, toying with her truly is a small pleasure in this magicless world.

"Oh, right," she mumbles. "Give me a minute, I'll see what I can do."

Without any other explanation, she goes to the front door and steps out. Minutes later, she returns with a large, black plastic bag.

"Okay," she huffs as she drops the bag on the floor and kneels beside it. "Mrs. Kovacs, she lives upstairs, her husband passed away a few years ago and she's slowly getting rid of his stuff. He might have been about your size, but I know how to sew, so we can alter what's needed. She let me have these."

"You want me to wear a dead man's clothes?" I scoff at her. The idea of it disgusts me. It is so below me that I cannot even begin to imagine it.

Instantly, her reaction changes. The blush leaves her cheeks and her eyes grow colder. "It's that, the towel, or your dirty pants and ripped shirt," she tells me in a commanding voice. "Unless you have some cash hiding somewhere. I can't afford to keep buying you clothes, so take what you can get."

A growl rumbles deep in my throat as she chastises me. Who is she to speak to me this way? Toying with her has been fun, but if she crosses me, I will not hesitate to end her!

My fury grows as my eyes lock with hers. No mortal has ever glared at me so hard or with such strength, not one without their own special gifts, at least. It is only as I stare at her that I realize I do not want to snuff out that strength.

I want to dominate it.

"You would command a god?" I snarl at her. I want to see her relent, to bow to my will. To kneel.

"If he's being ungrateful," she snaps back at me. "Now you can take these clothes or you can stay naked. It's not my problem."

For a short moment, our eyes stay locked together and neither of us move. Her glare is as hard as stone. She doesn't look away as she pushes herself up, and her gaze only breaks when she turns to walk away from me.

Instinctively, my hand reaches out to stop her. Roughly, I catch her wrist and bring her back to me. I will not let her walk away from me. No one walks away from me.

With a pull that is harder than necessary, I have her toppling toward me. Her free hand moves to break her fall against the back of the couch and she leans over me, her own anger never abating.

"Do not anger me," I growl at her. Her face is inches from my own. A thousand delicious thoughts race through my mind, but I fight them all away.

"You're the one who wants my help," she says, never backing down. "So if you hurt me, who will help you ?"

Her frustratingly accurate observation forces me to relent. Reluctantly, I release her wrist from my grasp, but she doesn't stand up. Not right away. She only keeps her eyes on mine and I'm certain I see something else in her eyes. Hesitation? No, it's different than that.

It's desire.

"Fine," I tell her, though backing down pains me in a way that makes even my bones ache. "I only hope this corpse has left behind some decent clothing."

"You know what?" she snaps at me as she tosses the bag at me. "You have fun going through this stuff on your own. Have at it."

She doesn't wait for me to answer. She only storms away into her bedroom and slams the door behind herself.

"Childish," I huff. Let her be angry. It will be better if she is mad than playing these foolish games. I need to remember that, no matter how enjoyable they may be.

Instead of dwelling on the foolish girl, I turn my attention to the bag of clothing she has unceremoniously shoved onto my lap. There isn't much hope in me that anything will be remotely wearable, but she is right. I don't have much choice. At least for now.

Inside the bag is a mix of awful wool sweaters, faded beige pants, and atrocious shirts with labels like, "Bass Pro Shop," and "Trout Champion 98," printed on them and I cringe in disgust. Perhaps it would be better to remain in the girl's towels rather than any of this tripe.

I almost give up my search, but at the bottom of the bag, I find something that holds promise. Rich, almost satiny black fabric brushes against the tips of my fingers. With a tug, I free a suit jacket from the packed in pile of rubbish. A touch wrinkled, yes, but otherwise an elegant piece of clothing.

For all the deceased Mr. Kovacs crimes in his clothing choices, he's somehow managed one success. Along with the jacket are a matching pair of pants, a black button down shirt, and to my pleasant surprise, a black silk tie.

Yes, this is exactly what I am looking for.

Ignoring the need for modesty, I drop the towel and pull on the pants. With a flourish, I slip into the shirt and enjoy the feeling of the crisp, clean black fabric on my skin. While unnecessary, I loop the black tie around my neck and tie it in a classic half windsor knot. Even without a mirror, I know the look is elegant, timely, dark, and powerful. Perfection.

Once I slide on the shoes that were purchased for me, I debate whether to go show the pouting girl or not. I do not need her validation, yet a part of me longs to see her reaction. To see the redness flush in her cheeks once more, and to stop her petulant words from reaching her tongue. To let her see just exactly how above her I truly am and have her pine for what she cannot have. Yes, that would be a delight.

I straighten my new tie as I step over the mess of discarded clothes and head toward the door that she had slammed in my face a few minutes earlier. An anticipatory smile catches the corners of my lips as my fingers reach the knob and I begin to twist it without knocking. The element of surprise will make her reaction all the more delicious.

But it's not her reaction that surprises me or delights me when I open the door. In her small bedroom, she has her back to me as she lifts her shirt over her head. Under it is a delicate, lacy, black bra that comes as a total surprise to me. It's sensual and dark all at once, and not at all what I expected to find her in.

"Ahem," I say with a playful faux cough. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

Her startled shriek is like music to my ears. She spins and struggles to cover herself, but it is with little success. Her bare, soft flesh is on display for me, and against the curves of her undergarments, it excites me so.

So much so that she is not the only one whose cheeks flesh when our eyes meet. Watching her shock at being interrupted overpowers any other emotions, at least at first.

"What are you doing?" she snaps at me.

"I wanted to inform you I've found some clothing," I chuckle. "I see you were in the process of doing the same."

"Yeah, privately!" she insists. "Get out!"

I debate disobeying her and toying with her some more, but decide to retreat from her room and close the door once more. It's only after I leave her that I realize how deep the desire running through me has grown. Desire that I don't know if I can fight any longer.

Desire that I don't know if I want to fight any longer.

My thoughts are derailed as she steps out of her room once more. She is fully dressed once more, this time in a soft, orange sweater that brightens her eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and the last remnants of her flush remains in her cheeks.

"Okay," she as she tugs her sweater down around her hips. "You said you needed my help. Beyond getting you clothes, food, bandaged, and shoes, is there anything else?"

"Why yes there is," I tell her. "While this has been... interesting, I do need to get back to my realm. Your realm is one in which I do not have my magic, and I do believe I am going to need to get that back if I'm going to find my way to my home."

She ponders what I've said for a moment. Her eyes search the room before the settle back on me.

"I don't think I've got what you need here," she admits. "But I've got a weird idea. I think I know where we might find the information you need."

Without giving me any more information than that, she leads me out of her home and back into the street. In the bright sun, the sudden realization that those two Asgardian soldiers may not have been alone hits me, but I see no evidence of that being true. The street is quiet and people are meandering about their day.

"This way," she instructs as she leads me down the road. People stop and stare as we saunter down the street, but that I am quite used to. Everything is unrecognizable to me at first, but a few turns later and things start to look a little more familiar.

It's the strange caricature of my own visage in the window that confirms where we are going. Her little shop, the one filled with all the books that have somehow captured my life on their pages. She pulls open the door and a bell chimes to announce our entrance. Aa familiar, pasty young man stares at us from behind the counter where he appears to be constantly perched.

"I thought you weren't coming in today," he says to Grace as we step into the shop. It's only after he speaks that he notices me that envy grows in his eyes. Delicious, antagonizing jealousy. It doesn't take a buffoon to realize that he is in love with the girl. Seeing her with me must be eating at him terribly.

"Just needed to pop in for a couple things," she tells him, but his eyes are squarely on me.

For my own amusement, I run my fingers down her back and watch as he crumples up the thin sheet of plastic he's fiddling with. She doesn't acknowledge my touch by looking at me, but goosebumps cover her flesh and she shivers ever so slightly.

"There are quite a few stories about dimension hopping," she whispers to me as her eyes scan the shelves. "And more than I can count about superheros losing their powers."

She pauses for a moment and then adds, "Supervillains, too."

Her words unexpectedly sting me. Is that how she truly sees me? She should, I know that, and I fight to remember that, but other feelings, other thoughts, ebb away at my desire to be that man any longer.

The uncertainty is a spike in my gut and I fight to hide it from everyone and anyone around me. I cannot question myself. Not now, not in this strange place!

Before my thoughts can take any more control over me, and before my companion can find the books she is in search of, the bell above the door chimes once more.

With one look, I know the men who've entered are no simple shoppers, coming to buy things to fill their lives with trinkets. No, in this realm or in the earth of mine, the blue uniforms are the same. Curiously, I let myself smile once more. This may get interesting, yes, rather interesting.

For the police have arrived.

 _ **Author's Note pt. 2 -**_ _Just as an additional note - I'm always looking for reasons to stretch my creative muscles. If you have a request for a short story, let me know and I'll write it as a one shot!_


	6. Chapter 6

I should have known that this was going to be frustrating, but I had no idea how much so. From the moment he walked into my shop, I knew Loki would be difficult, and that was only confirmed when I learned who he really is.

But damn, if he couldn't be downright infuriating! First I try to help him with getting him some new clothes, but he insults them before even looking at them. And Mr. Kovacs was tall and lean, just like Loki. It would be perfect, if not exactly fashionable. Then, when I call him on it, he acted like he was going to hurt me!

He didn't though, and I didn't think he would. I still don't think he will, either. At least, I hope he won't.

But he has killed before. The thought struck me hard in the face as his fingers wrapped around my wrist. If he truly is the same as he is in the movies and comics, he's killed hundreds, if not more.

That killer isn't in his eyes when he pulls me almost right on top of him, though. It isn't danger I sense in those beautiful green eyes of his. It's something deeper, something possessive. Dare I admit to myself that what I might be seeing is desire?

No, it couldn't have been. Even when he walked in on me when I was changing, I still wouldn't let myself believe that was true. It would only bring heartbreak if I let myself buy into that.

Not just because of his expressed desire to leave my world as soon as he found it possible. Not just because he could very well be a killer. No, the thing that scares me most when I stare into his jewel green eyes is the hurt and damage I know is hiding within them, somewhere deep inside. Hurt that drives him more than anything else.

Despite my better judgement, it's the knowledge of that hurt that keeps me by his side. He may anger me, he may frustrate the hell out of me, but I can't find it in me to send him away. Not when I know so much of who he is from the books and movies.

If those are at all accurate, of course.

While I'm still mad at him, and doubt that will fade all that quickly, I do continue to help Loki in his quest to get home. He tells me in our world he doesn't have his magic, and to get home he needs it back.

The internet is one thing, but it's all summaries and point form. We may miss important information if we just go with the abridged versions we'd find online. The one place I can think of to go to get the information we need is a place I know exceptionally well.

The comic shop.

Of course, it's entirely reliant on the idea that the Loki I've met and the Loki from the comics are even remotely the same. If they are, then maybe the information in the comics will be enough to find the places where the walls between our dimension and his are the weakest.

The shop is busy, but it's Wednesday and that's to be expected. Matt questioning look when I walk back into the shop doesn't phase me, and we head right to the graphic novels where I think will contain the information we need most. With our shop's sign out policy, I can take a bunch of books home and bring them back when we're done.

But of course, things don't go exactly as planned. In the rows of glossy collected comic books, I'm almost too focused to notice two new people walk in. It's only when I turn to see what Loki is doing that I notice the new people aren't customers, they're police officers.

Much to my total lack of surprise, Loki is completely bemused by the entrance of the cops. Why wouldn't he be?

Me, on the other hand, instantly feel the wallop of a hard punch of anxiety right to my gut. Even without them uttering a word, the serious, stern expressions on their face are enough to know they're here for business, not pleasure.

My mind instantly flips back to the two soldiers that we left dead in an alley. Of course someone was going to discover them, and of course there were going to be questions. I'd be truly as foolish as Loki keeps accusing me of if I don't admit that I should have known that already.

The two cops approach Matt, who immediately points at me. Thanks, Matt. The last thing I need right now, or ever, is two burly, angry looking police officers coming to question me on something I have all too much to do with. I can't lie to them, I've never been a good liar. I'm totally screwed.

"Excuse me," the larger, meaner of the cops says as he approaches us. I've seen him in town, I've seen all the cops in town before. It's not a large police force. He's easy to recognize, with his flopping jowls and big bags under his eyes. In my mind, I've always called him the bulldog, though I'd never call him that to his face.

"Ye-yeah?" I mumbled. God, why do cops freak me out? My palms are sweaty and my belly, which hasn't had food in about eighteen hours, is grumbling. Having someone like Loki by my side isn't helping matters any either!

"You are the manager of this establishment, correct?" the officer asks and I gulp down hard before I confirm that I am. "There was suspicious activity yesterday not far from here," the officer continues.

"What kind of activity?" I ask him, and hope he doesn't see the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

"That's not public information," the officer informs me as his partner scribbles in his little flip notebook. "But we do know that it involves men in some interesting costumes. We were hoping to find out if you would know of anyone doing any of that... Bill, what do they call that thing where nerds dress up and hit each other with cardboard swords?"

"LARPing, Russ," the other officer replies. "Some people think it's cool."

It is cool, I want to tell them. I've LARPed and had a damn good time, but arguing about whether or not LARPing is cool is probably not going to help any. Plus, I should just be relieved they don't think we were involved, just that we might know of people who might have been.

"Sorry, I haven't heard about any tournaments lately," I told them. "The last one was about five weeks ago, and about fifty miles away."

"Anyone in here looking for costumes?" the bulldog asks. "Specifically medieval soldier type stuff?"

"Sorry, again no," I told them. "Most people either make that stuff themselves, or order it online."

So far this lying thing has been easier than I thought! The officers are nodding their heads in understanding and I think we might be in the clear. I just have to keep it together for another second. I can feel it. We're golden.

"One more thing," the bulldog says just as I think we're safe. "Sir, may I ask your business here in town? We haven't seen you around before."

Oh no. He's talking to Loki and Loki is much too amused over this whole thing to not make it impossible to get ourselves off the suspects list.

"Oh, he's my cousin, Loren," I practically vomit out before Loki has a chance to answer. "He's just in town for a bit and I was showing him the shop."

To my relief, Loki extends his hand to shake the officer's. With a charming, debonair purr, he says, "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Sure," the officer says with a brow raised in suspicion. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week or two," Loki tells him, and the sly grin on his lips only curls up more. "It depends on how good of a hostess my... cousin is."

The officer squints his tired eyes at Loki, but does not argue. He gives the tall, dark stranger of a man a curt nod in response before he turns to me. "If you do hear anything, let us know right away," he tells me before he and his partner depart.

It is only after they leave that Matt comes racing over and pulls me away from Loki, which only makes the Norse God's smile grow wider.

"He's not your cousin," Matt hisses at me. "What are you doing?"

"Helping him," I whisper back at him, though I'm sure Loki can probably hear us. "He's a..." I trail off there. Is he truly a nice guy? A good person? Am I even sure what he is at all?

Yes, deep down I think he could be.

"He's a good guy," I finish. At least, he's been an interesting guy. A guy I can't stop staring at. His long, graceful fingers trail over the spines of the books while I watch him and my heart beats just a little faster as I watch him.

Damn am I ever in so much trouble.

"If you say so," Matt says as he shoots another suspicious look toward Loki. "Just be careful."

"I will," I tell him, but the words are just as much for myself as for him.

Thankfully, Matt lets it drop at that. With my heart still thumping hard in my chest from my anxiety, I return to Loki's side. Being so close to him ignites the strongest, craziest desires deep inside of me and I know I'm playing a dangerous game being with him for so long.

"You handled yourself well," he praises me, and the blush rises in my cheeks once more.

"Thanks," I mumble as I start pulling books off the shelves. "We can start with these."

I've grabbed a stack of ten books, all published in the last ten years. In them, I'm hoping we can piece together enough bits to figure out exactly what Loki needs.

But as we leave the shop, a twinge of regret knots in the back of my head. The sooner we find the way to get his sorcery back, the sooner he'll leave. That is, if we can find it at all. While a part of me knows it's best if we get him back into his world, most of me doesn't want to see him go.

The research begins back at my house almost the moment we walk through the front door. Loki is more keen to get started than I imagined he would be. He grabs the first book and immediately dives into it.

Though his reading is not without serious, ongoing complaints. Mostly regarding his own, character? Representation? God I don't even know! Calling Loki a character now sounds so weird, and so foreign, even in my own mind.

But the complaints don't stop with his own portrayal. No, Tony Stark is much more stuck up in real life, apparently. And Captain America is way more of a goodie goodie. Black Widow, while quite sexy according to him, is probably more messed up than even himself.

The one who received a great portion of his loathing is the Hulk. From how much of an oaf he is, to how stupid, to how he is a complete, worthless, ape like monster. He never does say that the comic representation is inaccurate from the real thing, but he carries a look of disgust whenever the Hulk appears on the page.

Despite reading the books cover to cover, of and over again, there isn't as much to go on as we'd both hoped. My first haul of books is a bust, but I bring back more every night after work while Loki and I scour through them in an effort to find some sort of information we can use.

Having him in my home, waiting for me to get home, day after day is the weirdest experience of my entire life, and by a wide margin at that. While he never cooks for me, nor cleans, he does seem genuinely happy to see him come home at night.

Or maybe he's just interested.

The way he looks at me sometimes makes me wonder if I'm more curiosity to him than a person at all. Then sometimes, out of what feels like nothing at all, that curiosity morphs into something deeper. His green eyes burn and I find myself getting too close to him, too personal. He'll corner me in the kitchen and I swear he'll be about to pull me into his strong, Asgardian arms, but then he will only ask me for some mundane favour and be done with it.

After a week, having him in my house is a routine that I can barely hide the fact that I love. I love seeing him sitting on my couch, I love the way the way he makes me blush when he leans in close to me. I love the horrible teasing of his lips when he'll leave them so close to my own. He teases me, the pushes me away, only to pull me back in.

I loathe it just as much as I love it.

Even with the conflict in my heart, a small, hopeful piece of me is starting to believe that he will stay with me always. The longer this goes on, the more I hope we won't find anything of use, and that maybe something more will happen between us.

My hopes are not entirely baseless! I swear sometimes I truly think he's going to kiss me. From a glance, to a brush of his hand, to the way he licks his lips before he talks to me, he brings me so close before pushing me away once again.

"Come here," Loki beckons me and snaps me out of my deep concentration. "I do believe I have found something."

My eyes roll hard, yet I find myself doing exactly what he wishes. I wander over to the couch where he's reading one of the dozens of graphic novels I've brought home. His long legs are spread across the cushions and his bare feet hang over the armrest. He's so effortlessly casual as he lounges there, and yet I can't help but recognize just how powerful he appears.

In his dark clothes and with his silky, long dark hair tumbling over his shoulders, he gives off the aura of being a dangerous jungle cat. Even in his lounging, he's ready to strike at a moment's notice. While that should instill fear in me, it doesn't.

It's only want and desire I feel. That, and the undying curiosity that has kept me on my toes since the moment I met him.

"What did you find?" I ask him as he moves his feet out of my way so I can sit beside him.

"Here," he says as he hands me the book. It's a collected volume from Dark Avengers during the Dark Reign arc. Dread creeps up my fingers and through my arms as I take the book from him. I know this story, and I know there are things in it I would prefer not to mess with.

"I, um, I know Dark Reign," I tell him. "What about it?"

A twinkle of mischief touches his green eyes when they meet mine. "Morgan Le Fay," he says. "What do you know of her?"

A lump forms in my throat. In the comics, nothing good ever comes of messing around with the half-faerie witch queen.

"A master sorceress," I reluctantly tell him. "She's able to warp reality, travel through time and possibly space, she's immortal, and can be omnipresent. She can change her shape and control the dead. In the books, she's even taken control of the Norn Stones before."

And she's more trouble than she's worth, I want to add, but I can't get the words out.

"The Norn Stones?" Loki scoffs. "Your telling of this witch had definitely caught my interest, but she has never possessed the stones. Your stories here are untrue."

"Maybe that part," I tell him, and then stop myself. Morgan Le Fay is not someone I want Loki working with, not by the way his eyes twinkled when I told him about her. It's better if he thinks her to be a myth or an exaggeration.

"Still, she may be of use," he purrs. "Where can we find her?"

"She doesn't really live on earth," I say. "Not really, and maybe not even in this time. I don't know how to find her."

"How do they find her in the books?" Loki presses me. His hand clamps over my own as need fills his vision. Not need for me, nor want, but need for information.

I can't dance around it any longer. I wish I could, and I wish I could tell him no, but I can't deny him the chance to go home. No matter how much I want him to stay.

"England," I admit. "In the comics, the walls between her realm and ours are thinnest in a city called Cornwall."

"Then that is where I must go," Loki says.

"I can come with you!" I blurt out so fast that he's not the only one visibly shocked by it.

To my dismay, he shakes his head at the idea. "I think it wise for you to stay here and continue to research for me. If this Morgan Le Fay appears to be nothing more than a myth, I will need to find another option, and quickly."

My mind races to find some way to protest, but before I can get the words out, my phone starts to chime on the coffee table. I want to ignore it, but a voice deep in my mind pushes me to answer.

"Hello?" I ask into the phone when I answer the call.

"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!" Matt's voice rambles into my ear when I pick up. "You have to get down here. Now!"

"Matty, just tell me what's going on," I sigh. Knowing Matt, he's lost a stack of comics that were on reserve for a customer and I'm going to have to be on damage control.

But before he can answer, or before I can make him, the line goes dead.

"I have to go to the shop," I tell Loki. Struggling, I try to keep the defeat out of my voice, but it's useless. If he truly wants to leave without me, I can't stop him. Nor should I. Can I really just drop everything and fly halfway around the world? Doubtful.

I expect to find indifference in his gaze, but don't find it. There's genuine interest there and he watches me while I slide on my shoes.

"I'll join you," he tells me as I reach for the door.

"You don't have to," I assure him. If anything, it might be better for him to pack up and leave while I'm out. Perhaps then I can pretend he was never there at all.

"Yes, well, I do think I want to," he tells me as he hands me the sweater that hangs over the back of my arm chair. "Now let us go before I change my mind."

Our walk into town is short, but filled with awkward silence. A dozen reasons for me to go to England with him cross my thoughts, while a dozen more tell me why it's a terrible idea. I'm so lost in my own mind that I barely register the sound of screams echoing off the buildings.

"What the hell?" I mumble. My eyes narrow in an effort to see what's going on, but I only hear the screams.

No, not screams. Not in terror anyway. If anything, they're in delight.

Loki's hand reaches out and pressed into my chest to stop me. "Stay here," he growls. He doesn't tell me why, he only continues to march forward without me.

"To hell with that," I tell myself and start to chase after him.

Loki's long legs have him well ahead of me. Even at a jog, I don't catch up to him before he finds the cause of the voices that are raised in excitement. Moving faster, I round the corner onto Main Street just in time to hear, "Loki, time to give it up," in a familiar voice.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see where the voice is coming from. I try to blink the image out of my eyes. It can't be real. He can't really be here. But he is.

Iron Man has come to my town.


End file.
